


a literal weakness in faith

by tattletold



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Claurenz Week (Fire Emblem), Fantasizing, Healing, It's all about the YEARNING, M/M, Minor Violence, Pining, Post-Time Skip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tattletold/pseuds/tattletold
Summary: Lorenz is mildly injured on the battlefield, and while watching him be healed, Claude reminisces on why he never learned white magic.And why he wishes he could've.Day 1 of Claurenz Week, "Yearning"
Relationships: Lorenz Hellman Gloucester/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 3
Kudos: 107
Collections: Claurenz Week: Winter 2020





	a literal weakness in faith

**Author's Note:**

> funny how you can be two days late writing something and it still comes out super rushed and messy

At one point, Claude had considered taking a seminar in Faith.

He never did. It would be unwise to do so, especially when he was to excel as a wyvern lord and focus his efforts in all things in leading, axes, bows, and so on. It’s been no secret that he’s quite the weakness for Faith, and after one failed attempt after class speaking with Marianne, he pushed the entire subject to the side entirely. Because there were more important places to focus his efforts. Because there was no use wasting his time on something he would never excel at.

It doesn’t mean he never wishes he could’ve, from time to time.

(From very  _ specific  _ time to time).

Claude hears Lorenz’s voice before he sees what’s happening, and he looks over just in time to watch the dark knight finish off an enemy yards away from him with one hand wrapped around an arrow freshly lodged in his shoulder. He remains upright, thankfully, and breaks the end of the arrow off with his fist before charging back into battle, the head of it still inches through his armor and undoubtedly his flesh.

In the heat of battle, there is nothing one can do but to continue on with minor injuries. They have tactics in place to handle situations like these, given that wounds are more than commonplace during war, so Claude returns to his own side of the field without a second thought. Letting his mind remain elsewhere would be a hazard both to himself and all the allies depending on his authority to cut through enemy lines as they are.

They fight hard. They stick to the rest of their plan. Lorenz continues on the correct path they’d routed earlier. They win.

Once the battle is over, it feels almost like Claude is just waking up or coming back to consciousness after passing out. Everything he had witnessed--each enemy of theirs that scattered in different directions, how Lysithea had changed her route partway through, or other injuries their allies sustained suddenly come to the forefront of Claude’s mind. They all are due their own time and thoughtful process, most of which will take place on the road back to Garreg Mach as simple consideration for what points the battle turned, who he must speak with, and so on.

Some other things take precedent.

Claude can still hear the ringing of metal clashing against each other as he hops off Barbarossa’s back where a temporary clinic has been set up past the treeline for the injuries that cannot wait to be treated. There is substantially less damage to the terrain here, and it’s like leaving the entirety of the battlefield and its bloody horrors behind once the canopy of leaves overhead blocks out the sun. But just because there is no fighting here does not mean it is peaceful; Claude steps into a graveyard.The temporary setup is a rush of medics calling hurriedly to one another while the injured are accounted for, soldiers cheering or mourning the respective recoveries and losses of their comrades.

It is a part of war, he tells himself just as always, eyes scanning the area for the familiar face that drew him here. It is a part of war, and it doesn’t get any easier.

The arrow Lorenz took was not critical. Claude had seen the angle it stuck out at before the base was broken, pointed away from his chest and more towards the shoulder. There is no fear or doubt in his mind that Lorenz will survive the wound. Beyond that, though, is where he begins to worry. There is the matter of traveling back to Garreg Mach, potential infections and, most importantly, whether or not he’ll be able to continue fighting with that arm.

Being one of their highest ranking generals, it is only natural that he would be one of the first to receive assistance from the medics they have present. It’s only a matter of making sure he’s treated immediately and properly, and when Claude rounds a tree and catches sight of Lorenz at last, he feels relief; the healer tending to them is one he would personally recommend.

Even after making sure of this, though--Claude decides not to leave. He stays still, far enough to keep his presence from being known, and simply observes the two of them interact.

The medic says something to him, quietly but hurried before Lorenz finally nods. It’s a dishearteningly weak motion, merely a bob of his head. He hardly looks like himself, all pale(-er than usual) and slouched back. The healer takes a dagger from her hip and makes quick work of Lorenz’s jacket, slicing from the collar to his shoulder and down his side to free the wound. Lorenz appears slightly dejected at the loss, and Claude feels the urge to roll his eyes.

_ “Is the jacket really more important than your life?” Claude would say if he were in that woman’s position, and Lorenz would scoff. _

_ “If my life is so important,” Lorenz would respond, “you would not be wasting yourtime with idle chatter.” _

The thought makes him smile, and Claude decides then not to intrude upon the scene and leans against a tree instead. The healer continues speaking, then Lorenz is closing his eyes with a nod as his shirtsleeves are torn as well, baring the gruesome wound to the open air, and Claude can  _ see _ the pain in his face as the flesh around the hole made in his shoulder is jostled.

The medic’s mouth moves, and Claude closes his eyes for a moment, thinking to himself.

_ “You need to be more careful,” Claude would say as he inspects the wound, poking and prodding at it in ways he only recognizes from his own previous injuries. But in this scenario, of course he would know what he’s doing. “If it’s practice avoiding arrows you need, I’d be more than happy to help out.” _

_ Lorenz, only able to scoff so many times within a minute, would furrow his brows up at Claude from where he is reclined, lips curled back. “As gracious as your offer is, I have never seen you miss your mark once in our--ouch!” He hisses, and Claude’s fingers still over him. _

_ “This wouldn’t have--” _

_ “I know, you have made your point  _ quite _ clear already!” Lorenz snaps. “Now would you please get on with this so we can move on already?” _

Claude opens his eyes at the sound of Lorenz cursing, only to find the man with a piece of leather in his mouth. His neck cranes back, veins and adam’s apple protruding as he bites down hard on the leather strap, sweat running down his face. He’s gone deathly pale, now, and Claude watches as the medic closes her hand over his shoulder with a familiar white light--and then dig her fingers inside of it.

Projectiles are always one of the most painful injuries to be seen to, unfortunately. Even if the presence of a foreign object helps prevent bleeding, it must still be extracted simultaneously with white magic to heal properly.

_ Claude doesn’t know what it would feel like to use Faith magic, but he imagines something like affection and concern pouring through his hand as it clasps down over Lorenz’s bare shoulder. “On the count of three I’m going to pull it out, okay? Brace yourself.” _

_ But the dark knight is already slightly delirious with the painful procedure that has already taken place, pathetically limp against the rock even as he nods along. “Right, right--please, be swift.” With his free hand, he positions the piece of leather in his mouth (horse reins looped over a few times, Claude thinks) and closes his eyes tightly shut. _

_ It isn’t easy on Claude’s end either, he wants to say. Even just with his palm over the wound, blood continues to pour out, coating Claude’s hand as the excess drips down his shoulder and onto the rock behind him. It’s wrong, and it’s sickening how his blood is the warmest part of Lorenz right now, his skin just as cold as it looks to the touch. The man is practically made of ice, body rigid and tight as if he had already begun the process of rigor mortis to speed the process along. _

_ Claude’s unoccupied hand comes up to cup Lorenz’s cheek. His eyes flutter open, and the wrinkles between his brows smooths with the motion of Claude’s thumb over his cheekbone. Slowly, as if being unraveled thread by bloodstained thread, Claude feels Lorenz’s body relax and slump down more comfortably against the makeshift cot he’s leaned up against. Only then does Lorenz close his eyes once more, giving a small nod for Claude to continue. _

_ “Alright, here we go,” Claude says quietly, returning to concentrating a steady flow of magic into the hole in Lorenz’s shoulder while his fingers position themselves to grab the arrowhead. “One… two--” _

_ Before the second count is even past his lips, Claude’s fingers wrap around the base of the arrow and plucks it out with a sick, wet noise that is quickly masked by the sound of Lorenz shouting behind his bit. It’s much easier to heal the wound with no blade obstructing it, though, and Claude can (probably?) feel it close up beneath his hand--just in time for Lorenz to grab the leather from his mouth and level him with a horrified stare. _

_ “Claude von Riegan!” he roars, throwing the bit to the side and sitting up. Of course, Claude pushes himself back onto his heels to avoid being headbutted, hands held up in the air defensively as he laughs. _

_ “Hey, hey, look! You’re already up and moving just like normal, try thanking me first!” _

_ His words give Lorenz pause, face twisting up into an indignant pout (though he would never admit to calling it that) as he searches for some justification to beating his leader senseless right here and now. Claude settles back down and sits, crossing his legs with the knowledge that Lorenz will find no such reason because it’s  _ true _ ; a small lie about timing was enough to make the process much smoother. _

_ “You… are the most vexing man I have ever met in my life,” Lorenz says, and the words are so empty at this point that Claude could have just said it for him. But what’s done is done, and it cannot be denied that Claude has done his work helping Lorenz judging by the color that has slowly returned to the rest of his body. His portrait is so uncanny with that pallid skin. Claude reaches forward with his hand not covered in blood, feeling his cheek with the backs of his knuckles. Right, he  _ is _ warming up, and the fact makes him smile in relief before he notices Lorenz’s eyes on him. _

_ Lorenz’s eyes, wide and dark, watching Claude’s face carefully. _

_ His cheek beneath Claude’s fingers grows even warmer, still. _

“You look  _ humiliatingly _ lovesick.”

Claude keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the image of Lorenz shirtless and leaning into his hand for a few more moments before he returns to reality. Naturally Hilda is standing before him with the smug look on her face of a woman who found exactly who she expected where she expected them, preparing to gloat for the entire ride home.

There is no point in acting as if he hasn’t been caught, especially not when Hilda of all people knows Claude’s feelings better than himself. It has always been an infuriating game between the two of them, bouncing between knowing each other’s emotions versus their thoughts, never one in the same.

“Nice to see you too, Hilda,” Claude says, sparing her only a glance before looking back to where Lorenz is still sat with the medic. At this point he’s still being fussed over and, huh, Claude could’ve sworn the process would go faster. It certainly had in his mind.

“You’re wishing you were his healer, weren’t you?” she coos, hooking her chin over Claude’s shoulder as he straightens himself from leaning against the tree. With a giggle, she rocks his head from side to side, knocking against Claude’s cheek. “You don’t gotta be embarrassed, Claude; sometimes I can see right through you.”

“You and I both know that could only ever go horribly.” He shrugs a shoulder to detach her, though Hilda remains glued to his side.

“Doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be nice from time to time, huh,” she drawls, voice lazy in its interest.

Their conversation is interrupted by a loud shout, and they both look over to see Lorenz with a new fresh stream of blood running down his shoulder. The medic is leaned back, looking bewildered as Lorenz curses them out over something Hilda and Claude can’t quite make out.

But it is quite funny to watch, and it’s evidence enough that the man is quite fine indeed. Claude laughs, unable to help himself as the poor medic quickly scrambles to bandage the wound of a very dismayed looking Lorenz. The color has returned to his face, as well as his bite.

His head turns, meeting Claude’s eye across the forest.

Lorenz just as quickly whips his head the other way and shrugs on his coat, and if the red on his cheeks is any indication, Claude has a feeling he’s already on his way to a speedy recovery.

**Author's Note:**

> [@dreisang](https://twitter.com/dreisang)


End file.
